


'Til Death We Both Depart

by abeautifullie3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeautifullie3/pseuds/abeautifullie3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean bind themselves together through Tattoo/Sex!Magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til Death We Both Depart

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally Posted Here:** http://abeautifullie3.livejournal.com/48216.html **On October 12th, 2011**
> 
> **Additional Warnings/Spoilers:** Tattooing, Marking, Passing mention of underage  
>  **Disclaimer:** The story is mine. The boys, and all things canon, not mine. *pouts*
> 
> **Additional Notes:** Beta'd by: Unbeta'd.
> 
> _Written for an LJ Comm challenge.  
>  The prompt was:::  
> Genre: FutureFic  
> Kink: Tattooing &/or Branding  
> Word Count: Under 1,500 (which my wordy Muse squeaked by with 6 words to spare!)  
>    
>  **Comments & Kudos are very appreciated and highly adored!!! Absolutely ALL con-crit is desired as well!**  
> _

 

 

~*~ S&D ~*~

  
  
      Dean takes another swig of rock-gut, straight from the bottle. My eyes fix on his throat as it works to swallow the liquid fire. He probably shouldn't be drinking it, but I'm not gonna tell him no, and neither is the nephew-of a friend-of a hunter that Bobby set us up with. All Doug's concerned with is Dean keeping his hip still.  
      Which he does. But the sweat on his brow is beginning to trickle down his temple, and when he lets loose a sharp hiss my hand goes sympathetically to the spot on my own hip, now covered in ointment and gauze. It did hurt like a motherfucker, and I know all too well how sensitive that spot is for Dean - making him blow his load countless times, simply by worrying at the skin there until I could nearly taste the blood just beneath the surface.  
  
      It seemed to make sense for the binding tats to go there. The same spot we've been marking one another on for over thirty years. First area of smooth flesh I claimed on him, only fourteen and begging my big brother to let me mark him as mine.  
  
      "How much frickin' longer?" Dean grits his teeth, then takes another pull of whiskey.  
  
      I glance to where the needle is just beginning to trace the single word along the barrel of the Colt. "Not long, babe."  
  
      "Sammy." Dean growls at the endearment.  
  
      "Suck it up, Dean. 'sides, he obviously knows. Hell, everyone knows - and no one gives a shit."  
  
      Dean glares at me before slowly licking his lips and allowing his expression to soften. "Whatever."  
  
      Reaching over I run my fingers through his short hair, the soft spikes now scattered with silver strands. Dean doesn't fight it. Closes his eyes and turns into the comforting touch.  
      What I say is true. Anyone who's heard of us knows. It's equally true no one really cares. Maybe if things were different they might. But they aren't. The world now literally hell on earth, Lucifer having picked the lock on his cage.  
      Though Cas made it out in one piece he's cut off to us. His last words to Dean and I the only comfort he could give, assuring our place in Heaven was secure when the end finally came. Death and Michael are the only ones taking our calls. They drop us crumbs to get us through the worst of it. Michael patching us up when our first-aid kits - or the compound medic - can't cut it.  
  
      "Alright, fellas, some of my finest work, if I do say so myself." Doug leans back to admire the tattoo along the cut of Dean's hip.  
  
      It matches mine identically. Both our names scripted into the heart, the Colt firing through the center with the single word emblazoned on the barrel. While the significance of the image is a weighty one, it's the herbs mixed into the ink that hold the most importance.  
  
      Doug keeps his instructions matter-of-fact as he bandages Dean, "You have about an hour to...finish the spell. I'd make it forty-five minutes to be safe. Got a guestroom upstairs if-"  
  
      "Thanks. Motel's not even five minutes from here." Dean winces as he stands up and fastens his jeans.  
  
      "Anything else we should know?" I ask, pulling out a wad of bills for Doug. He waves his hand to decline, but I thrust them his way all the more until he accepts with a sigh.  
  
      "Just recite the incantation right after you...join. And make sure you both...and it mixes."  
  
      Dean grimaces. I know it's not the pain, rather discussing our intimate relations with someone he finds disconcerting. "Yeah, yeah. We got it," Dean grumbles.  
  
      Doug stands between us, clasping a hand to each of our shoulders as we head for the door. "Keep up the good fight, fellas."  
  
      "Always, man. Thanks again." I mean my words, and know Dean equally shares the promise. It's all we can do. We were raised to fight. Battling the darkness is so deeply ingrained in us, we wouldn't know how not to. And the binding spell - not allowing either of us to die unless the other perishes within near precious seconds - will help keep us in the game until God himself pulls us out, or we finally come to the bitter end of it all.  
  
      Things won't end well on earth, we understand that now. But as long as we're here, we'll keep fighting.  
  
      I drive us to the motel, Dean having nearly finished the bottle of booze and a little unsteady. "Sure you're gonna be able to _perform_?" I tease.  
  
      "When the hell, ever, haven't you been able to get me hard?"  
  
      "Oh, I can recall a few-"  
  
      "Shut the fuck up." Dean throws me a scathing look. It only serves to make my jeans go tight in the crotch.  
  
      Sliding the Impala - the old girl still with us, Dean always finding a way to keep her in repair - into the motel lot, we make our way into the room.  
  
      The door closed behind me, Dean's fists are instantly clenched in my shirt. Slamming me up against the door, the hard bulge of his cock presses tight against my freshly inked hip. "Fuck, Dean."  
  
      "Feel like I can't get it up to you, little brother?"  
  
      Dean doesn't expect me to answer, doesn't give me a chance even if he did. His mouth is over mine in a wet and dirty kiss, attacking my lips like a man half-starved and I'm his banquet.  
      I give back good as I'm getting. Tongue slipping into the heat of Dean's mouth, seeking out the familiar taste of him beneath the harsh bite of cheap whiskey. My hands move from where they'd instinctively landed on his hips, slipping under layers of material to knead at warm flesh.  
  
      "Off!" Dean grunts, tugging at the flannel and undershirt he's rucked up across my chest.  
  
      As I pull off my shirts, he does the same. Dean leans his bare chest against mine, hardened nipples rubbing over the sculpted lines of my abs. Fuck I want him. All the years, tragedies, wars, and even fights between us, and I still crave him...need him...more than food or water or breath.  
      Dean's working that sinful mouth of his along my jaw and down my neck. His fingernails scraping lightly up and down the sides of my ribcage. I'm leaking, and painfully hard inside my jeans, and can't help but to rut up against him. "Dean, please."  
  
      "Yeah, I got ya, Sammy." Dean locks his eyes with mine, his hands tangling in my mess of brown hair. He still bitches about how I need to cut it. Know he'd kick my ass if I ever did. Capturing my lips in his, Dean walks us back to the king-sized bed. We gave up the pretense of two singles years ago.

      With a quick spin, Dean shoves me down on the mattress and makes fast work of stripping me - then himself. He hesitates, eyes searching the room, and I know what he's looking for.  
  
      "Don't need it. Prepped before we left."  
  
      Dean snorts, lips curling into a lazy smirk and the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "Knew there was a reason I loved ya."  
  
      "Shut up, asshole. You're wasting time." I roll my eyes, then slowly pull the bandage off my tattoo. Dean removes his as well.  
  
      Crawling onto the bed, Dean drapes himself over my body and grinds down. We gasp in unison at the searing pain shooting out from the areas of inflamed skin, the pleasure of our stiff cocks rubbing together tempering the deep burn.  
  
      Breath labored, Dean shimmies down to slot himself between my thighs. "You ready, baby boy?"  
  
      Well over forty, and he still insists on the endearment. I still not-so-secretly love it. "Do it, Dean."  
  
      One smooth thrust, and Dean is buried inside me. We barely take a moment to breathe before reciting the final part of the incantation. Words finished, all that's left between us are grunts and moans as Dean pounds into my ass. My hand furiously strips my own cock, neither of us holding back and focused on finding quick release.  
  
      "Sammy! Sammy, I'm gonna..."  
  
      "Yeah, Dean, now!"  
  
      The first burst of pearly white shoots from the tip of my cock as Dean pulls out and aims his shaft at my belly. One stroke of his hand, and his seed is mingling with mine.  
      The air crackles with unseen electricity, though both of us catch the brief blue sparks dancing across the skin where our tattoos lie.  
  
      "Fuck, Sammy." Dean's fingers gently glide against my inked flesh. My heart clenches at the expression of awe and love on his face.  
  
      Reaching out, my own fingers ghost over the black lines of the Colt etched into Dean's hip, the word there a reminder of what we both realize and accept now...  
  
      **_Destiny_**   
  


~*~ S&D ~*~


End file.
